


Bravado

by Tabbyluna



Category: Skylanders - Fandom
Genre: Coming of Age, Family, Finally Edited For A Better Experience, Gen, Goldling Culture, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, rich people
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-15
Updated: 2019-11-15
Packaged: 2021-01-31 08:30:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21443266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tabbyluna/pseuds/Tabbyluna
Summary: She's finally a grown woman. But what sort of woman would she even become?
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	Bravado

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this instead of sleeping. But at least I finally said my piece on Sprocket.

When Sprocket woke up the day of her seventeenth birthday, the sun had not risen yet. Outside, the land was still shrouded in darkness. Sprocket pushed her blankets off her and slipped into her slippers, then she shuffled over to her window. When it was bright outside, during the day, she never particularly cared for looking outside. Her bedroom faced her family’s golf course. There was nothing interesting or beautiful to see out there. Just miles and miles of the same neatly cut grass. But it was only after the sun rose, though. She quite liked looking outside before the sun rose. Somehow, the darkness allowed for an air of mystery. Like if she climbed out of her window, and walked through that dark field, she could find herself encountering a fairy ring or something of a similar nature. 

It was unlikely for that to happen though. Any fairy within a thousand mile radius was probably working for a goldling. They would have no opportunities to construct anything like a fairy ring.

She usually tried to wake up early, as a result. Alone in her room, with the only light source coming from the yellowish-orange glow of her lamp, she liked to be alone with her thoughts. There was a mystical quality to this weird time period. Something about the atmosphere lent itself well to daydreaming. Some of her best inventions were thought up in the wee hours of the morning. The cold air, the dim lights, it just felt comforting to her. 

That day, she had a lot to think about. She had opened up her notebook to a blank page, but her pen remained firmly gripped in her hand. It had not made a single mark on the fresh page. Not a word scribbled, not a line sketched. Instead, Sprocket merely tapped it against her chin, today being the rare day where she was inspired to think about something other than her inventions.

Today, she would turn seventeen. According to goldling tradition, it meant that she would finally be considered an adult. Finally, all the possibilities and opportunities the world had in store for her could be available for her to pursue. At least, in theory. She would still have to live with her parents, as it was unlikely that they would let her move away. As the only heir to her family’s grand fortune, they had been grooming her since the day she was born to someday become the ‘lady in charge’, so to speak. The house supposedly had a grand history, and so they would never allow her to sell it. And they most definitely would not approve of her moving in with her Uncle. In his small wooden house in the most deserted part of the island. 

“You already have this marvellous house to live in, darling daughter. Generations of goldlings lived here and raised families here. Why would you give up all of this to live in a small, smelly, run-down house?” She imagined her mother saying that to her, in the same nagging tone she always spoke in. Sometimes, she felt like the only reason why her mother lived was to tell people that what they were doing was wrong, and to lecture them on why.

“My brother is an eccentric man. Why, I’d even wager that he is simply mad. I’ve told you this countless times when you were young, but you would think by now, the day you become a young lady, you would realise that it’s meaningless to spend any time with the insane.” That would be her father’s response. “The insane do not see things the way we do. They are unaware of concepts such as courteousey or politeness, and as a result they question things that never needed to be questioned in the first place. Child, you were privileged enough to be born in a noble family. One that managed to teach you all of the correct social graces. Why would you give that up to live as a mad woman?”

In all honesty, she would have greatly preferred living as a mad woman, like how her uncle was seen as a mad man. It would be better than the monotony of her position. It was a lonely position for sure. She did not have many friends. 

She used to try and make friends, in her tiny private school intended for the wealthiest in Skylands. As a child, she tried to talk to her classmates about all the things her uncle taught her. How all people in Skylands deserved to be equal. Why some of the things the wealthiest people in Skylands did, like slavery, were actually very wrong. He had used the word ‘unethical’ back then. But when she asked what that meant, he explained that when something was unethical, it meant that something was being done, and it was wrong. 

She was finally old enough to understand it all now. Read the books he had sent her, discussed the issues with her uncle. Back in school, her holding such unorthodox views did not help her to earn any friends, so she had plenty of time to do so. Sitting alone during lunch period with a strange book. Rushing to his house after class with her questions to ask. She reckoned that this made her uncle her only friend in that regard.

Well, aside from the strange views on the world, she had unusual interests too. Preferring to be by herself and fix things and invent. In contrast, most of her classmates were social butterflies. They adored spending time chatting with each other, occasionally engaging in a spot of horseback riding or croquet. Even the quiet children, introverted like her, preferred to do neat and tidy activities. They would read, or play with their dolls or train sets. None of them ever wanted to do an activity which could blister their hands or make their clothes all greasy. None of them could even tell the difference between a flathead or a Phillips screwdriver. So she never really spent much time around her schoolmates growing up.

This really did make her uncle her only friend growing up. 

She had invited people over to the party later in the evening. A few classmates. The ones who did not outright hate her. It was safe to say that she was not exactly the most popular person around. Most of her classmates saw her as odd, unusual, or even a little mad. A few caught her sneaking off to her uncle’s house, and rumours about her family were spread. She had gotten into a lot of trouble with her parents because of it. But that never stopped her from seeing her only friend. 

Despite her reputation as the school weirdo; the topic of a large chunk of the gossip, she had managed to make a few aquaintances in school. A handful of people, whom she managed to sustain at least a few polite conversations with. Some had accepted her invitation, as they had nothing better to do that day. They would show up later with their families in tow. And knowing how polite a lot of her schoolmates always wanted to appear, she expected that many of them would show up with a present.

She would hate to leave all of them waiting…

Sprocket glanced over to the clock that hung on her wall. Six in the morning. She then glanced out the window. Though it was still dark, she could see the signs that the sun was about to rise. There was a small, pinkish light which was starting to fill up the sky. Soon, that pink would fill the sky. If she wanted to leave for her uncle’s house, she would need to leave soon. 

She locked her door. Neither of her parents were morning people. Even if they were, there was no way they would bother to try and do something like wake her up. They would say that such a duty was to be done by servants. “The fairies especially are very efficient. They’re practically living alarm clocks.”

She hated it when her parents referred to the other species living with them in such a manner. Her uncle’s books always said that this sort of treatment was a form of speciesism. And she had to agree. But even though they were clearly stereotyping, it was true that their fairy butler, Chronus, was an extremely punctual man. She was cordial with him too. If she was not up at her usual time, he would probably check on her. She whispered an apology at him, then slipped out of her night clothes. 

The previous night, she had chosen out an outfit for herself. Unlike the new dress she was going to receive that evening, this one was one she was more familiar with. Her favourite purple turtleneck, along with a brown pair of cargo pants. She slipped on her boots, strapped her goggles on, and grabbed her backpack. Once she was fully dressed, she slipped her notebook into her backpack and opened her window. 

Sprocket had climbed out her window before. It was something so familiar to her, she could do - and had done - it in the dark. She gripped the long pipe that ran down to the bottom of the house, and gently felt her way down the window. Using the creeper growing around the house to balance her footing, she slowly inched her way down until her feet touched solid ground. Once she did, she checked her bag once more to make sure it was zipped. (It was a bad habit of hers, to leave it open. She had lost a lot of good notebooks like that.) When she did, she ran as silently as she could, through the golf course to the part of the island few goldlings even dared to venture towards.

*****

The way to her uncle’s house was familiar to her. She had snuck out through this route countless times as a student. Quietly, to make sure none of the guards caught her, she pushed herself past a secret path through the topiary. Her first trip to her uncle’s house as an adult. How exciting. 

And yet, it’s still rather depressing. As an adult, she should be able to make her own choices. Yet, here she was, hiding who she was from everyone else. Sneaking out in the middle of the night, instead of announcing to her parents “I’ll be at Uncle Spanner’s!” And then heading off. All of her classmates could do that. Simply announce to their parents that they would be over at a relative’s house, and there would be no judgement, no lectures from them.

Then again, most of her classmates had relatives who were ‘respectable’ members of society. Whatever respectable meant. She was positive that, based on the book she read, slavery was far from respectable. But even though they weren’t respectable at all by her standards, the important thing was that they would not be judged for visiting their relatives. That was the part she was envious of.

As she pushed herself through the bushes, she realised that technically she did not need to hide her visits anymore. She was an adult now. She could make her own decisions. The only possible threat that came to mind was being misdiagnosed with mental illnesses. Her uncle might have been sent to dozens of psychologists when he was younger, diagnosing him with a dozen different ailments to explain his ‘madness’. But she had been sent when she was younger too. And that episode ended with the final verdict being that she was mostly neurotypical. There was officially nothing anyone could do to have power over her. 

She technically had that freedom now. Yet she did not feel any more free than she did the previous.

Not only was the path a secret route to the abandoned part of the island, but it was also a shortcut from where her house was located. Soon, she came across the tiny abode her uncle resided in. With its single story, its wooden, whitewashed walls, its blue door with the paint fading away, its dirty windows. Surrounding it, the grass was all uncut, with weeds and natural wild flowers scattered around. Those flowers gave the house a fresh smell, which almost managed to mask the scent of oil, metal, and petroleum that came from the house itself.

Home sweet home. Or at least, sweeter than her technical real home.

She would have loved to grow up in this little house. Sure, the roof was leaky, and her uncle slept out of a sleeping bag. But this place had a sense of adventure to it. This little hut was not for the faint-hearted to live in. It was not stable, but it was interesting. And she felt like her uncle could have made a better guardian than her parents. If anything, she wished that she had been raised fully by him. Where she would spend her days under his tutelage, learning everything she could about inventions and fixing up things. 

She would help him keep the place neat and tidy too. Even though many of her uncle’s conditions were misdiagnosed, there were a couple that managed to be true. It prevented the house from being neat, which did not bode well for his physical health. If she lived with him, she would help to take care of his chores. She would wash the dishes, clean the windows, sweep the floor, and maybe even repaint the door. Those actions might make her uncle a little less prone to illness, and maybe then he could rest a little easier. 

It was still early in the morning, but she knew her uncle was a morning person. He was a fairly light sleeper, due to the obscene amounts of caffeine he consumed on a daily basis. Early to rise, late to bed. It also contributed to his ailing health, according to a doctor, but he never really listened to their advice.

“Real men of science,” he said to her one day, “practice their craft for the benefit of others. I never trust a doctor without noble intentions. They could be hoping to serve the needy, or hoping to buy their parents a new house, or even just want their family to have a comfortable life. All are good reasons to work. All are good reasons to earn a lot of money, even.” He then took a long sip of coffee, and told her how that particular doctor was going to but his fourth house in a few weeks. 

“When the only god you serve is greed, how can I trust you to use the noble art of science for good?”

Those words stuck with her, and ever since then she had been trying to find something she could work towards. A noble reason to carry on inventing. She supposed that was the reason why the world needed inventors in the first place. To find solutions to problems. But she sometimes wondered if those little reasons were a good enough reason to invent. Should there not be a greater reason to do her craft?

Maybe she could finally talk about it with her uncle. She brought her knuckles to the pine wood door, and tapped it three times. Each tap shook the zinc roof slightly, but she knew it was not enough to tip it over.

“Yes, yes, hold on. Goodness me, I haven’t even brushed my teeth yet!” The door soon unlocked itself with several ‘clicks’ (safety first), and soon, she found herself looking face to face with her uncle again.

He was dressed in nothing but a ratty old bathrobe, which at one point was white but had faded to grey, and his boxers, which had little red hearts dotted all over them. Sprocket looked up, and noted that he had not shaved. He had probably not shaved for at least half a month too, considering a red beard had already started to form around his face. There was a greasy shine to his golden face too, indicating that it had been a while since he last showered. And his long red hair, usually tied up in a ponytail, was uncombed and untied.

“Good morning, Uncle Spanner!” She called, affectionately. Those were technically their nicknames for each other. ‘Spanner’ and ‘Sprocket’. As a child, she had expressed dissatisfaction for her birth name, declaring it ‘lame’ and ‘boring’. Instead, she wanted a cool name like her uncle’s. So he gave her one of those ‘cool’ names. And ever since that day, she wore that new name like a badge of honour. 

Spanner, upon seeing her smiling face in the faint morning light, could not help but give her a small grin in return. “Good morning Sprocket. What are you doing here? Wait, no, come on in, won’t you? We’ll discuss it indoors.”

She walked in, and as Spanner fiddled with the locks on the door, he unleashed a barrage of questions onto her. “What brings you here? Especially so early in the morning. Have you eaten breakfast yet? And is that a new haircut I see?”

Sprocket grinned. “Well, in order, I wanted to see you before my birthday celebrations today, I have not yet, and yes.” She brushed a hand through her freshly cut hair. After having it be long for years, similar to how her uncle had always worn his hair, she had finally decided to chop it all off in favour of shorter hair. It was shoulder length, and she found that it had been so much easier to maintain. Less shampoo, less need for combing. 

Even her mother liked her new look. “It frames your face very well.” She smiled. For once, her mother and her agreed on something.

“Well, it looks very cute on you. And please take a seat. I’ll prepare some breakfast for you now.” He walked over a few steps, to where a portable stove had been placed on a rickety picnic table. A mini-fridge stood right beside the table. The makeshift kitchen. As Sprocket took a seat on a nearby swivel chair, Spanner dipped down to check and see what he had available in the mini-fridge.

“Well, I have some yogurt here. And a couple of those small boxes of cereal. What do you say to yogurt and cereal on this fine day, Miss Young Adult?” He looked up over the table, and grinned at her. For some reason it only made her chuckle.

“It sounds great, Uncle Spanner.” She pushed her chair around with her foot, and watched him pull out small tubs of yogurt along with miniature boxes of cereal out of the mini-fridge.

“Alright then. Would you like plain, or strawberry yogurt?” He asked. “I would offer blueberry, but I ate it straight from the tub last night for dinner, so I don’t think you’d want to have some.”

She chuckled. No, she supposed not. “Strawberry yogurt is fine, Uncle Spanner. What do you have for cereal?”

“Well, there’s really only one option here, unfortunately. So, are you okay with Wheat Puffs?” He asked, shaking the tiny box of cereal he pulled out of the fridge. 

She nodded. “That’s fine. Thanks.”

Uncle Spanner walked over to the small cupboard he had built over the sink, and pulled out a small plastic cup and spoon. He scooped out a couple of scoops of yogurt into the cup, and then ripped open the cardboard cereal box. “So, how are you feeling about the party today?” He asked, tapping out any yogurt still stuck on the spoon. Once he did, he poured the cereal in.

“Eh, the usual. I kind of don’t care, but at the same time I’m kind of anxious about it. I’d rather not have some big party for my birthday, to be honest. Especially since you wouldn’t be there.” He walked over and handed her her cup. Then walked back to get a spoon of his own and the tub of blueberry yogurt.

“Well, you came to visit me. So at least I can give you your present. We can talk about anything too. How’re your inventions going?” He spoke with his mouth full of yogurt. Years of living isolated from other goldlings had made his table manners less than desirable, but Sprocket never minded.

She smiled. “They’re going well. Although, I do wish that sometimes I had a bigger, greater, I don’t know, purpose I guess. Like, I want to make inventions to solve little problems, because I don’t think there are that many big problems to solve back at home. But it sometimes feels like it isn’t enough, you know? Like, there needs to be some greater purpose for me inventing my things. A point I want to make, anything. You get what I’m saying?”

Spanner ate another scoop of yogurt, then curtly nodded. He pulled a stool out and sat on it, making sure to face her. “You know Sprocket, I think it’s very admirable that you’re thinking about such things, especially at your age. It’s very much a sign of maturity. But, to be honest, I believe that simply wanting to help the people in your life is a good enough reason to do the things you do.” He reached out to ruffle her hair, the way he always did when she was a kid. “That’s the whole purpose of science. To help us understand the world, and use that understanding to better help people live their best lives. You can keep doing what you’re doing, and if a greater purpose comes up, then that’s great. But for now, what you’re doing is fine enough.”

Sprocket smiled. For a hermit, he was surprisingly good at finding the right words to say to a person. “Thanks Uncle Spanner. Now, what’s this birthday present you wanted to give me?” 

He held a finger up to tell her to wait, and then shuffled over to his work bench. “Here. Since today is the day you officially become a legal adult, I think that you deserve an extra special present this year. So after much thinking, I’ve decided to give you this.” 

Gently, he handed her a giant silver wrench, so big that Sprocket needed to hold it with both hands. She looked at it in awe, nothing all the tiny spots of rust and wear that denoted its age. It was clearly a well-used wrench. She had seen in used before, in fact. It was Uncle Spanner’s favourite wrench.

“This was the first tool I ever got. I bought it myself at an old hardware store on another island. But now, I think it’s time I pass it on to you.” He grinned. Sprocket could feel her heart swelling with pride, and she practically beamed back.

“Thank you so much, Uncle Spanner! I’ll be sure to put it to good use!”

“You better, Sprocket. Old Betsy doesn’t do well sitting on display. There are also a ton of ways you can use her too.” He asked for her back, and started a small demonstration. 

“You see, young lady, your new Old Betsy has multiple functions that come pre-equipped. Not only can she function is a reliable wrench,” he said, miming out his actions, “but she also makes a good doorstop, can be used as a bookmark for any novel you find particularly gripping. Or, in a pinch, she can also be used as a weapon!” He swung Old Betsy with that line. But when he did, he accidentally hit the window. Upon colliding with that old glass, the window broke, scattering pieces of glass all over their yogurt and the floor.

For a moment, the two of them stared at the broken window in silence. But then, very suddenly, they both started to laugh at the same time. Starting out as a small chuckle, they fed into each other’s laughter, and soon the two of them were gripping their sides, gasping for air. 

“Well, looks like we’re gonna have to fix that now, huh?” Asked Sprocket. “I’ll get the broom.” 

“You do that. I’ll take out the trash,” agreed Uncle Spanner. And soon the two of them were busy cleaning up their mess.

Sprocket sighed as she swept the floor. “I wish I didn’t have to have a party later. I just want to spend the day hanging out with you. That would be the best birthday ever. But well, you know how my parents can get. They’d take any opportunity they could to throw social events.”

Spanner nodded. “That’s my brother alright. You know, when I was younger, he actually sent out invitations for all my birthday parties to his classmates. He always really liked attention, that man.”

“I don’t know how they do it!” Commented Sprocket. “I mean, how do you deal with all those people all at once, making all that smalltalk? To be honest, I’d rather spend that time doing other things, smalltalk is dumb.”

Spanner tossed the garbage into the large trash can which sat outside the house, then wiped his hands on his robe. “Wash your hands, please.”

“Alright, alright,” he chuckled. “Well, honestly Sprocket, there’s really nothing wrong with wanting to be around a lot of people. I guess my problem with my brother and sister-in-law has always been how they were, well to be quite frank, attention whores. Remember, it’s not how many people you want around you that counts. It’s how considerate you are to the people around you which counts.”

She watched him scrub his hands with dish soap. He didn’t always remember to pick up hand soap, so that was not unusual for him to do. “I guess so. To be honest, I wouldn’t mind having more friends, or even being at parties. But the part I’m dreading the most about today’s party is how Mom and Dad will probably try to treat me like I’m some doll to parade around.”

He nodded. “Understandable.”

“It’s like, ‘Oh, this is our daughter, and these are the grades she got this year when she graduated. Doesn’t she look pretty in her dress? Look at her, now let’s talk more about the house and our new car?’” Spanner chuckled as she imitated her parents. “Like, I guess I wouldn’t mind talking and interacting with others. But I hate being put on display; it’s like I only exist so that people can stroke their egos or something!”

“Ah, my brother’s been doing that for years. Even when we were kids, he used to invite all my birthday guests to his room to play board games with them. He always chose the board games he was good at too, so he almost always won. He’s always been a bit of a showoff, to be honest.” Once he washed his hands, he grabbed a dry cloth from the cupboard and wiped his hands on it.

“Yeah, I wished he wasn’t. I hate being put on display.” She finished sweeping up the glass, and placed the dustpan and broom over to one side.

Spanner nodded, walked over to her to pat her back. “Well, hang in there. The party would be over before you know it, and then you can resume doing whatever you want to do. Try not to let your parents get to you too much, alright?” He smiled at her. And when he did, Sprocket noticed a brightness to his eyes. That brightness, it strangely made her feel comforted. She pulled her uncle in for a hug.

“Thanks Uncle Spanner. I’ll try to remember that today. Thank so much for breakfast and Old Betsy.” She felt him pat her back, and so she did the same to him.

“No problem dear. Now, I think it’s time you get going now. I know how long my sister-in-law likes to take to get things ready for events, you better get going before she starts to panic too much.”

Sprocket chuckled, then nodded her head as she pulled away from the hug. “Alright then, see you soon Uncle Spanner!”

He smiled, and ruffled her hair again. “I hope to see you soon too, Sprocket.”

As she began to walk back to the mansion, Spanner watched her until she was nothing more than a mere dot in the distance. Then he turned back to the house and went to check on what spare materials he had on hand. He had a broken window to fix.

*****

As Sprocket and Spanner had both anticipated, when Sprocket finally snuck back into the house and unlocked her bedroom door, her Mother was there. Waiting to jump on her and get her ready for the party that evening.

“Finally!” She exclaimed, dragging her daughter across the corridor by hand. “I’ve been waiting for you to finally get up. Did you fall asleep in your clothes again? Oh well, nevermind that. Come on now, we’ve got to check and see if you have any good dresses for the evening.”

Between mothers and daughters, the experience of choosing a dress together can vary greatly, depending on the temperaments of both mother and daughter. In the case of Sprocket, she by and large experiences a sort of boredom every time her mother gets her to try and choose an appropriate dress for the evening. They don’t go shopping for new dresses. They were far too rich for that. Rather, a small team of designers would head over to their house, and they would always bring a few dresses designed specially for them. From there, Sprocket’s Mother would choose which dresses to wear. She would bring her daughter over to model the dresses, but in actuality Sprocket had very little say over what went on her body.

To her Mother, fashion was simply another way of showing off to the world. The wealthy could afford tailors to personally design and sew clothes. To choose the right dress, the right makeup, the right jewellery, involved knowing what other people expected you to wear, and then deciding the best course of action from there. Whether it would be best to play it safe and go for an expected option, or to be bolder and try to subvert those expectations. It was always a calculated decision, based on other people’s outfits, predictions, rumours, and the patterns of dressing of both you and other people. In the world of the wealthy, your personal opinion on the clothes you wear did not matter. 

“Hmm…” Her Mother inspected the long black evening gown before her. “Well, it’s nice and all. But it seems a bit too mature for her. Especially compared to the dress she wore to the Diamondhead’s wedding.” She pulled out a picture of Sprocket at the previous formal function she attended. In it, she wore a light blue number, lacy with a floral pattern. It was long-sleeved, calf-length, and high neck, with a thin black ribbon tied around said high neck. As far as dresses went, it wasn’t terrible, in Sprocket’s opinion. But that’s only because she had been in worse outfits.

The designer nodded, then pulled out a different dress for her mother to inspect. A floor-length, grey dress, with a v-neck bodice made out of satin and a skirt which was practically a waterfall of silk. Metallic beads decorated the bodice and hemline, forming a strange sort of floral pattern. “How’s this?” She offered. “I was thinking we could pair it with some pearls and-” But she was cut off when Sprocket’s Mother shook her head.

“No, no. It’s too dull. And besides, it does not go well at all with my own dress. Do you have anymore in black?”

Sprocket turned her eyes towards the dress she was talking about. Stood in the centre of the room, a mannequin proudly showing it off, was her mother’s chosen dress of the evening. With its glittery, emerald green, off-shoulder bodice, and its floor length black skirt which could trail across the floor, it practically commanded attention. Sprocket knew that later on, her Mother would pair that already fanciful dress with some elaborate jewellery, along with meticulously crafted hair and makeup. An outfit tailor-made for a woman who loved attention.

She liked to use her to draw attention to herself too. Hence why she always insisted that their outfits needed to complement each other. Sprocket hoped for the day she could finally choose an outfit she liked. Maybe she could finally wear a suit with a goofy tie. She always wanted to wear one of those.

The designer pulled out the final dress she had brought with her. When she unzipped it out of its bag, she presented it with an air of hopeful pride. It was black, with a floor-length hoop skirt made out of some sort of lacy material. Its bodice was equally lacy, and it was all held up by a pair of spaghetti straps.

“It looks like underwear,” said Mother, a sentiment Sprocket agreed with. And with that comment, she had officially vetoed the last dress that particular designer had to offer her. “I’ll be keeping this one though. Expect your payment in six to ten business days.” She ran a hand through the fabric of her new dress, as if she was imagining the envious looks on the other guests’ faces.

With a bow, the designer gathered up all of her dresses, and swiftly left the room. Just as quickly, another stepped into the room. Rolling in a clothing rack full of outfits. Her ruby red stilettos going ‘click, click, click’ on the cold marble floor.

“It’s nice to work with you again, Madame,” the designer, a green-skinned elf, greeted. Her alto voice was as rich as chocolate.

“Same for you. Now, I’ve already chosen the gown I shall wear his evening. But my daughter is still in need of something to wear now. You’ve received my notes, haven’t you?”

“Of course, Madame. In fact, I have them right here.” She pulled out a white sheet of paper out of her red pantsuit pocket. Then read it out loud. “‘A dress fit for a seventeen year old young lady. Something which implies maturity without losing its air of innocence. Especially considering her previous formal outfits, it would be best if it did not show too much skin. We would not want a scandal on our hands. Key words are elegance, beauty, class.’” 

Mother nodded, a small smile on her lips. Proper ladies did not grin or beam. The most they ever do to show their approval was nod and give a small smile. “Very good. And since I have already chosen out my dress, the dress we could potentially choose from you must complement it well.”

The designer gave her a proper nod, as she too was a proper lady. She glanced over to the gown, and inspected it carefully. Once she was done, she reached right into the middle of the rack and pulled out a dress. “How’s this one?”

Mother picked up the dress from her, and inspected it further. Most of it was black, much like her own dress. But the bodice and the long sleeves were covered in a sewn pattern of reddish-pink roses and thorns. It reminded Sprocket of a fairytale. The dark and dismal forest filled with deadly flowers. She watched her Mother’s reaction, and found that the corners of her mouth had both turned up ever so slightly. 

“It’s perfect.” She took the dress from her with one hand, and extended the other to shake. “It was a pleasure doing business with you again. As usual, you delivered with very little prompting.”

“I aim to please, Madame.” She accepted her hand and shook it. “Now, if you will excuse me, I have other business to attend to.”

And with that, she left.

Sprocket knew her opinion did not matter much. Her Mother never asked what type of dress she wanted to wear. Not as a child, not even as she grew up. There was no need for her to try it on even, as she had always sent out her measurements to the designers first. Still, as far as outfits went, it was far from the worst one Sprocket had seen. Even if it was not her style, it was aesthetically pleasing. As long as it didn’t itch, she would not mind wearing it for an evening.

Now that the dress had been chosen, there came the less tedious parts. First, they took a break for lunch. Salad obviously. They could binge later that evening, but in the afternoon, they needed to exercise some self-control. After lunch, then came washing up. Two proper baths had been drawn for the two of them, and while Sprocket was quick with hers, Mother took her time. 

After the baths, came preparing hair and makeup. Sprocket was glad that she had cut her hair short, she hated wearing her hair up. Getting it held up by cans of strong-smelling hairspray and tubes of cold, sticky hair gel. All the bobby pins which would stick painfully in the skin. Short hair, in her opinion, was far easier to maintain. Instead, she waited for her Mother to finish getting her hair pinned up. For whatever reason, she did not mind the sensory nightmare that was hair styling. It was some elaborate up-do, once again. She half suspected that Mother had glued emeralds to that up-do with hair gel, but she could not be certain. Still, she did not put it past her to do something like that.

The penultimate task, makeup. Sprocket was never good at doing her own, which was why she was glad that they had a team to do it to her. She would admit, they did a good job. They knew how to bring out the shape of her eyes, the curve of her lips, the colour of her skin. But her Mother was a master at makeup. She knew secrets that not even the team knew, and Sprocket knew she was at least a little bit disappointed that her daughter had not inherited her gift. 

When she walked out of her room, her eyes had a sparkle to them and her cheeks a rosy quality. The makeup artists envied her skills. They wished that she knew how to do it. But for whatever reason, Mother never shared them. Sprocket suspected that she feared what would happen if her all her secrets got leaked to the world. Mother was a beautiful woman. If she could no longer be the only one with her unique beauty, then what use was she to everyone else?

Finally, dressing up. They put on their dresses, and Mother had chosen a matching set of jewellery for her to try on. Rose themed, obviously. A pink crystal rose attached to a thick black thread, that was the necklace. Dangling red flowers for earrings. But no bracelets. “You keep losing them, my daughter. Unless you promise that you would stop taking them off during parties, I will not let you wear another bracelet.”

That seemed fair enough. She hated bracelets anyways.

They were both finally ready for the party. When Father saw Sprocket, he smiled at her widely, his hands behind his back. “My baby girl, all grown up.” He nodded his head politely. Sprocket believed that there was supposed to be more passion in that. Some sort of feeling, instead of it sounding like a neutral comment.

Whatever. Now it was time to wait for the guests. 

They came to their house in waves. The first wave were the noveau rich. Wealthy families of other species who jumped at the chance of being invited to a goldling affair. Goldlings loved to invite them. They were like stocking filling to them. They all came up to them, genuinely complimenting their house, their vehicles, their clothing. With a sort of brightness in their eyes. A brightness which could only be found in the eyes of those who had recently struck big. 

Sprocket liked to talk to them. Sure, some were a little sleazy, but most sounded genuinely happy to be there. They were the best part of the evening.

Next came the lesser goldlings. Those who have not quite reached the level of wealth as her family, but wished they were on their level. Their compliments were acidic and passive-agressive. Every word that came out of their mouth was like a banana in a needle. They were annoying, but Sprocket learned how to bear with them. They usually came on time. After all, they weren’t important enough to draw that much attention from the richest goldlings, but they could at least impress those of other species. Thus, they made it a point to arrive before all of the VIPs came in.

Finally, there was the fashionably late crowd. The richest of the goldlings. Those who were part of the richest in Skylands, like her parents. And for that reason, they hated each other for it. What would happen when they came over was that her parents would default to politeness. Frigid, sterilised politeness. They had nothing nice to say about each other, but all the gossip should be reserved for when the other party was not in the room. Sprocket hated this part of the evening the most.

“That’s a lovely dress you have on today. And your daughter too, it’s very chic.”

“You’ve raised such a polite daughter. Such a lovely girl. I’m sorry, lovely woman, since she’s seventeen now.”

“She’s certainly got your looks. A chip off the old block, huh? Quite pretty.”

They sounded so insincere as they said that. Sprocket could tell that they saw her as nothing but a hideous little scab. And their insincerity was driving her bananas. It was annoying her badly, but she had done this too many times in the past. Heard them say all the same things about her since young. She had gotten used to it, and was able to suppress her anger until the last guest was fashionably late.

Then, she retreated into the corners of the house. Her parents could attend to the guests. Soak up the attention. She would prefer to not have any, not when she needed time away from all those people.

When no one was looking, she snuck out of the house. Away from the stuffiness, the crowd, she was alone in the grassy lawn and the warm air. An ideal place to think. 

By goldling customs, she was already an adult. An adult, capable of making her own decisions. Capable of deciding what made her happy. Capable of spending her precious time in whatever way she fancied. Yet, here she was, dressed up for a party she never wanted to throw. In a dress which while not terrible, did not appeal to her in any way.

She wished she had something to do out here, and her thoughts drifted back to the visit earlier that morning. Though the visit was less than an hour long, she felt like she would remember those minutes spent together with Uncle Spanner years from now as opposed to the rest of the day. Sure, it was a small, cramped place. He broke a window. He was not even dressed properly. But there was something there, which was sorely missing from the party in the mansion.

Warmth.

Since young, she had been raised to be admired, noticed. Viewed from afar. Like an art piece put on display, her glory in full display. But she hated showing her glory to strangers, because she was not a glorious person. In her dress, and her makeup, she felt out of place. As if she was wearing the skin of someone who was not her. Someone who wanted applause and approval. Someone who never worked with her hands, or snuck out of her bedroom window.

Someone cold and calculated. Someone like Mother.

With Uncle Spanner, all of that was different. She could let down her walls, drop any pretences, and just be herself. Things broke, he was sloppy, and they weren’t always attractive and prim. But that didn’t matter. What mattered to them was each other. They could trust each other, so they did. Even though the world may judge them for who they were, they loved each other, and no matter what happened she would always be welcomed back at his house. In all it rickety, unstable glory.

She sighed, and folded her legs to sit on the grass. Slowly, she started to look up at the stars, and she quietly admired their beauty. Blocking out the sounds of music and chatter from the building, she silently promised herself two things.

The first was that she would never turn out to be like her Mother. Untrusting, cold, and always perfectly groomed. Her Mother may be a beauty, but strip that away and no one would care for her. That was the tragedy of the beautiful, in Sprocket’s opinion. One was trapped by their looks for life, if they ever managed to find adoration. Though Sprocket had a similar face to Mother, she hid it by acting in unattractive ways. To be beautiful and gorgeous beyond belief was to dazzle and attract the insincere. Sprocket never wanted that to be her.

The second thing she promised herself was to find her own way to make people go ‘brava!’ She refused to rely on looks alone. Not when she had another gift of her own to give to the world. She sighed, remembering the conversation she had with Spanner earlier. Maybe this was the greater purpose for inventing she had been looking for. To show the world that she could. To show that a goldling could humble herself. A goldling could work hand and make something worth using. A goldling could make something which looked ugly, but was ultimately useful. A goldling could go against the culture of cold perfection that her ancestors had spent years enforcing, and finally, embrace a culture of warmth, which celebrated imperfection and oddness. 

She took in the fresh evening air, imagining the potential chaos that could come about from her doing such a thing. Yes. That sort of bravado, she could get behind.

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from a song by Lorde of the same name. I'd also been watching a bit of Kill la Kill lately, so it's a little inspired by that.


End file.
